Transistor
by sxe fiend
Summary: Formerly called "The Disarming Smile". At 20, Emily needs to reinvent the way she relates to the world. A journey to California and a shift in everything she thought she knew brings her into the fold of an interesting mix of multi-generational skins kids wreaking havoc and figuring out love.
1. Metal rails on metal wheels

**A Note and a moment of Gratitude**

This all started with Rophy in April. That month was my introduction to the skins' fan fiction universe. I've had some dark times this year, but part of what made it better was finding you lot who write for writing's sake, read for readin's sake, and gush praise and support in the name of community. There are so many stories I've read that have pushed me to finally drop some ink as well. I'm a bit distanced from technology these days, so if I don't get through all my long overdue reviews, this story is for you. There are a few wordsmiths in particular that I'd like to dedicate this to, because I've spent unknown hours and days poring over your words, and I've been quiet for too long: **niceoneBlondie, Hypes, EverythingOnceRight, FitchSwitch, post-war, Heather Hogan, ImagineAlex, hylian, unknownstuntman, lizardwriter, and LuvActually**. You didn't know it, but y'all made my jaw drop to the floor in awe many a time. Thanks.

Please excuse the rust and the cobwebs in my cranium, but hopefully we can pick up steam, yes?

**I don't own a plan, a cannon, or canonical Skins, but that's where the fun kicks in. **

**xK!x**

...

_There is rest for the wicked, just cold in the extremities_

_Far from home, so far from home you can't remember_

_You dream other people's dreams, wake up in floods of where and what you are:_

_Propped up against beer cases that nobody wants but if you quit your only severance will be this scar, so soldier on_

_Viper at my breast, twitch below my eye, soldier on_

It never fails, Emily always feels at ease in a train car. It doesn't particularly matter where it's going. The metal rails meet metal wheels, and all of a sudden, people who have nothing else in common are lulled into synchronized swaying and occasional lurching as the train screeches up to its numerous stops.

The Bristol-London line-a slow waltz. All shoulders, no hips.

New York to Chicago-a bit of a two-step shuffle, as passengers conversed over playing cards, overpriced alcohol, and glossy paperbacks, the scenery danced its own slow, grand solo, choreographed by post-industrial despair and small town scenic wonders alike.

And now this small one. The BART. Bay Area Rapid Transit from the Oakland International Airport to...something new... Emily pulls up her legs, her heels digging into the faded blue fabric of the seat and her chin resting on her bare knees. She feels brown eyes looking at her from the seat across from her. Emily looks up, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear as she does so, to find the bemused expression of her friend.

"So, what do you think of this one, Ems?," Jal asks with a hint of a sleepy smile. "'Cause, I'm thinking 'salsa in the streets'".

She does a little jiggle in her seat, her feet tapping on the dusty nylon of their backpacks shoved haphazardly beneath her. She is abruptly thrown forward slightly as the train makes another harsh stop. Emily lets out a little giggle, shaking her head a bit before leaning it against the window. She lets her fingers tug random frayed threads off her cutoff jeans before answering her friend, "no, this one feels like a backflip, 6,000 miles from home," she hums, while sharing a conspiratorial grin from her spot on the window.

"Hmm, yeah...'Arabesque'," Jal adds quietly, her fingers tapping absentmindedly on her thigh. Emily smiles at the movement. She knows that if Jal's clarinet were in her hands instead of safely tucked away in its own corner of her pack, she'd give this train music of its own.

Song and Dance. They've honed their routine over the past three months of traveling.

...

Like most outliers in a mid-sized city, they kept meeting at random. Their circles of friends swirled sporadic dances around each other like atoms in a frenzy. Emily Fitch remembers the first time they properly met. The summer before she started at Roundview, Katie dragged her out to a party, flashing two fake ID's at a club bouncer for the both of them, then practically abandoning her at the door to find her wanker-masquerading-as-a-human-being boyfriend, Danny. Emily sat timidly on a couch, feeling out of the particular demographic of either being a footballer or wanting to screw a footballer. She was brought out of her state of melancholy by a heightening row between a young woman, whom she'd later learn was Jal, and a young black man behind a set of turntables who kept alternating between a really posh accent and grimy slang.

"Kenneth, I don't care what you call it, it's pure shit compared to the classics. You can dance to the Maytals, mate. I just feel like seizing to your dubbing," Jal hollered over the noise, her face attempting and failing at an earnest scowl of contempt.

"Firstly, it's dub_step,_ young grasshopper. And really Jal? Do try to catch up to us in the 21st century. Oh! I don't know if you've heard, but Beethoven died, quite a while back actually," the boy called Kenneth snottily commented before tugging his giant headphones back over his ears, his face breaking into a smug grin at his wit as he turned his attention back to the turntables. Jal groaned in exaggerated frustration and caught Emily staring wide-eyed a few feet away.

"Tell me, I'm not losing my mind!" Jal huffed before plopping down next to Emily. Emily produced a goofy, lopsided grin before they settled into a amiable discussion on the virtues and vices of the Bristolian music scene.

The next time Emily saw Jal, they were both at a punk show in the basement of a pizza parlor. While she and James Cook celebrated surviving a year at Roundview with four pints and seven pints respectively, Jal was maniacally dancing from the drum stand to a monitor amp. A fizzy bundle of riotous energy. Cook wrapped his arm around Emily so she could hear him better as he told her how this kid he used to get gear from died, pointing his pint glass to the stage, where Jal had stolen the mic, in a sloppy salute.

Emily almost choked on her bagel the next morning as she walked, slightly bleary-eyed, from Cook's house past the riverbank towards her house, discovering Jal perched on a worn bench letting notes flow from her clarinet into the trees shading her above, completely oblivious to the fact that a _mere _few hours ago, her alter ego had jumped on the back of the bassist and spun around the stage before flailing out to the drunken crowd . Despite protests from her well-abused head, Emily threw her face to the sky with unconstrained laughter.

Aside from Cook, Jal was the only other person Emily had told she was gay. Jal responded by getting up off their spot on the floor of her carpet in her room to flip through her milk carton of records with a simple, "I believe a bit of Nina Simone is in order," before returning back to her spot next to Emily, giving an affectionate poke to her shoulder when she felt the younger girl silently sobbing with relief while Nina crooned about sinners.

Jal told Emily about Chris. She told her she couldn't stand ever letting the good things go unnoticed and unappreciated.

Katie left for California the day after her and Emily finished college, Jal helped Emily decorate the other half of the room and find a mirror to hang on the door.

They talked about the alien, sickening feelings of grave disappointment in their mothers.

When her twin's letter came in the mail one unassuming Spring day, written in that familiar hurried scrawl, Emily showed Jal first, then Cook.

The plane tickets started out as a dare, Emily thinks. Yet, she knew the outcome of a dare with Jal Fazer.

...

Emily returns her attention to the window. She catches intermittent moments of a hot August sunset as the train submerges and re-emerges to meet passengers at its various stops. She glances periodically to the map on the left wall of the train car to make sure they don't miss their stop. Three more to go. Two more. She feels anxiety bubbling to the surface as they near their destination. The next instant, she feels the older woman poke her in the shoulder as she switches to the seat next to her. Parallel bodies moving with the train.

"Have you... called him?" Jal gently asks as they gather their possessions while waiting for the train doors to open. Emily shakes her head leading the way out of the simplicity of the train, her feet unsteady to this new routine.

"...He does know we're coming tonight though, right?" Jal prods again, while absentmindedly adjusting shoulder straps and waist buckles and sweeping her hand to the left pouch, reassured by knocking on the small metal case holding her way of connecting to the world.

Emily simply nods, before ascending the escalator to ground level, suddenly feeling the rush of people around her. Silently praying it's easier to breath at the surface.

Emily navigates them through the few blocks they need to reach away from the train station. She repeatedly references the scrawled directions on her palm-twenty year life-lines of fortune, love, and mortality, deduced to a temporary home for a bullet point list of simple directions.

They walk side-by-side. Two weary, wary travelers reaching the end of their journey accustomed to the weight on their backs but still exhausted by it.

"It's that blue Victorian on the corner," Emily states, her voice drained of any giddiness from earlier. Jal whips around and grabs Emily's shoulders.

"Emily. Look, it's okay to be upset you know. It doesn't mean you don't lov-"

"Jal, I'm fine. Okay. yeah? " "Just drop it for now...please...I can't-"

"Okay," Jal murmurs quietly, brown eyes locking with brown eyes.

They ascend the creaking wooden steps of the house. Their echoes reverberating in the warm isolated night. Emily takes one long breath before reaching for the door knocker, receiving a small poke from Jal between her ribs for good measure.

The two women hear someone shuffle around inside before unlocking a dead bolt and throwing the door open. A young man at Emily's height leans in a casual manner against the door frame, arms akimbo. His face is illuminated by the automatic porch light with dramatic timing.

It's been six months since Emily has spoken to him. Her eyes bulge wide as she's hit with so many emotions at once.

Standing there in his faded Bristol Rovers tee and jeans, Emily finally absorbs all of him all at once. The young man's face is eerily similar to Emily's, although he now has a narrower jaw line, and his hair is cut into a neat crew cut. There's the faint outline of a muscular build beneath the shirt.

But those eyes.

His deep brown eyes lock with his twin's as he nervously smiles.

"Took you bitches long enough!" He smirks, nerves still rippling beneath the surface.

Emily would know that smug smirk from anywhere.

...

**I hope you're enjoying it so far! **

**Feel free to drop me some feedback. **

**xo**

**xK!x**


	2. My Lady Story

Chapter 2

My Lady Story

Whew! I've been working on a play and school stuff, but I'm giving myself some break time to get back into this.

Y'all are fantastic. Thank you so much for your warm response to this story. I enjoy feedback of all kinds.

I own nothing. Not even a **Y** chromosome.

This is ridiculously short, but I have the story all mapped out, so more on the way.

And now, a naming is in order for one Fierce Fitch.

I apologize in advance for the time travel in this one, but I swear it's necessary!

**xK!x**

**...**

_We felt so differently then _

_So similar over the years_

_The way we laugh the way we experience pain _

_So many memories __But there's nothing left to gain from remembering _

_Faces and worlds that no one else will ever know_

...

"Morgan".

One word, filled to the brim with a strange mixture of hesitancy and command. Emily watched her twin as he gazed into the murky waters of the San Francisco Bay before turning his eyes back to meet hers. Her brow furrowed as she took this new information in, filing it away with new pronouns and a voice in a new timbre.

"What does it mean?" Emily asked, her head tilted slightly, like her whole body was questioning him.

"It's like, got two meanings." "Bright sea and warrior...like a seafaring fighter, or something...whatever, it's just what I found when I searched it." the older twin trailed off, dismissing his own words with a small wave of his hand before shoving it back into the pocket of his windbreaker.

Emily didn't believe her twin's nonchalance for a second. She slowly took his other hand and gave it a quick squeeze, while recalling another August afternoon and another sea...

_It had been been the first proper holiday they took as a family. Rob, their dad, had finally left the gym he worked at as a trainer to start something of his own and it was flourishing enough to allow the Fitch clan to take to the Irish coast for a week. Of course, it violently rained the first six days they were there, the soggy beaches taunting all of them as they tumbled into tiny regional museums and other touristy havens. The weather was merciful on their last day, the sky greeted them with sunshine as they trekked their way out to the sand. _

_Rob and Jenna were pre-occupied with the precociousness of James. At six-years-old , everyone was fair game as he slung sand and small rocks at innocent passersby while screeching up and down the strip of beach. _

_After a command from Jenna to watch "Emsy", Katie led the both of them a ways down to a wall of rocks separating their slice of beach coastline from the next. They clambered the wall with ease, and found they had the other side all to themselves. With a taunt and a dare, they both flung themselves into the ocean, racing each other to prove their strength, suppressing fits of giggles as they goaded each other on. The stormy weather of the past week had produced large waves that built up silently before toppling over with a thundering crash. They had dove under two waves in succession, a metre abreast of each other while eyeing the next. _

_Emily sized up the watery wall, waiting for the top to curl over before diving through, giving an extra kick halfway through to prevent being sucked down into the wave. She surfaced, a grin on her face from the thrill. Her grin disappeared when Katie didn't surface next to her. _

_Seconds felt like hours as Emily dove under the surface, forcing her eyes open in the salty sea to frantically look around. She spotted Katie a few metres away, listlessly crawling through the water, disoriented. _

_Katie had hit the ocean floor hard and couldn't tell up from down. _

_Emily pulled her twin to the surface and dragged them to the shore. _

_Her lungs felt like they would give, flashes of red danced before her closed eyes as her muscles begged for mercy and she prayed for Katie to be okay. _

_They didn't tell their parents. Rob and Jenna didn't seem to notice, despite their ragged appearance and Katie's occasional coughing fits. _

_As they piled back into the car, Emily felt her twin give her hand a tight squeeze, as Katie stared steadfastly out the window. A few shaky breaths were the only hint betraying her solid composure. _

_They held hands the rest of the way home. _

_It was the first time Emily didn't feel six minutes younger. _

Emily pulled herself from the memory, pulling a wayward strand of her brown hair from out of her mouth before breaking the silence.

"I love you. I love you, Morgan. You know that right?"

"I know."

They lapsed into another comfortable silence as they walked the gravelly path that wrapped around the sheltered bay. Both lost in their own thoughts.

…

***Title & Lyrics by Antony and the Johnsons**


	3. Exponential Velocity

Chapter 3

**More deep thoughts and **_**processing. **_

**xK!x**

…

Their walk leads them to a worn down diner on the shorefront; the paint's peeling, and every surface on the outside has been greatly abused by the local seagull population.

"By the way lezza, your outfit is fucking atrocious," Morgan states as he slides into the booth opposite of Emily. There is no venom in the comment, and Emily knows it. She smiles and steps easily into her role.

"Fuck you. It's seven in the morning, you _dragged_ me out of bed, and most of my clothes are still in Jal's bag."

Emily waits for her twin's retort. She watches his well-worn performance with mild fascination, the left eyebrow raises (still well-plucked), his jaw is set, and his deep brown eyes narrow into a fierce stare.

"There. Is_. Never_. An. Excuse. For Plaid," he states in solemn condemnation.

They stare each other down. This stubbornness is imbued in every cell in their bodies.

Morgan cracks first, letting out a small snort before surrendering to a full-fledged fit of giggles.

Emily follows suit a split second later.

By the time they order, it's established.

_We're still us. Whatever "us" may be._

Emily feels a distinct shift in the atmosphere and takes a deep breath she feels like she's been holding for the last six months. This is just the beginning, and she knows it, but she lets her eyes wander around the small restaurant as the questions begin to bubble up to the surface.

It's still early, and the clientele is quite sparse. Two old men sit in a booth on the opposite side. Their weathered hands grip identical mugs of steaming coffee as they speak in deep, low murmurs and cast glances out onto the gray bay. A young woman and presumably her son sit at the front counter. She is attempting to move any breakable object out of the toddler's way, but is unsuccessful as he waves a jar of sugar above his head before sending it crashing to the ground with a gleeful shriek. Emily smiles as she watches the woman try to maintain a scowl, but her shaking shoulders give away her amusement with the situation.

She thinks of James. 6,000 miles away.

Emily turns her attention back to her _other_ brother. The thought is jarring, but not unpleasant.

Just _different_.

Her twin is oblivious to the clamor. He is looking out of the window with a dreamy look on his face. Emily notices his napkin, which contains inky, hasty drawings. Simple illustrations of buttons, toggles, and zipper pulls are cramped together in a sporadic fashion.

Emily remembers when her twin first started carrying around a notebook everywhere. In college, the older twin had set his mind on being a savvy fashion designer and _Vogue_ became the new King James' Bible. He had graduated from magazines to his own designs, a pen never far from his fingertips.

One day on the bus, her twin, multi-tasking as usual, simultaneously berated Emily for not wanting to go to the Love Ball with Danny's mate and sketched out different buckle designs. Cook grabbed her twin's notebook and loudly asked 'Katiekins' how she was going to be a designer when she was going to be performing a marathon of blow jobs as a WAG.

Cook couldn't walk right for a week after that and Emily had yelled at him for his misdirected sense of loyalty.

But nonetheless, the sketchbooks stayed home, and Emily would fall asleep every night to the sound of a pen quietly scratching across paper.

You can't suppress the passion of a Fitch. It just comes roaring back with exponential velocity.

A waitress brings them two mugs of black coffee and Emily shakes her head from yet another reverie. It is all she seems able to do for the last twelve hours in her twin's presence. Thinking back and sifting through memories. Trying to find the moment when they became strangers to each other while the world still saw them as carbon copies: Emily & Katie. Katie & Emily. The girls. The twins.

"Morgan. Mmmooorgan. Morgennnnnnnnn." Emily teases. Her mouth stumbles over the consonants and vowels in various arrangements. She is pleased at the eye roll she solicits from her brother.

"What? I have to break it in. Think of it like new shoes."

"Fuck off"

"Mooooorgan uh… Fitch. Wait, what's your middle name?" Emily queries. Thinking for a moment, of how strange of a question it is for someone so familiar.

"Alistair," Morgan quickly responds. His lisp adds a sibilant flair to the name.

Emily pauses a moment, a goofy smirk erupting on her face. "Ah, Alistair. Grandfather Alistair. The source of all Fitch fury and fierceness." And then she quietly adds, "He would've been proud to know you."

Emily watches Morgan's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows hard to keep emotion down, while Emily also tries to contain herself by gripping the edges of the table, her vision blurry from unshed tears. They both sit there in an agitated silence. Natural inclinations of crying battling their mother's lifelong influence: never express emotions in public.

The spell is broken as the waitress diverts their attention with a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and hash browns for Emily and a stack of waffles, a bowl of oatmeal, two sausages, and an omelet for Morgan. It's Emily's turn for a raised eyebrow as she realizes for the first time in history, her twin's appetite rivals her own.

"So," Emily begins between mouthfuls. "How's that personal wardrobe assistant job in San Francisco?"

"Good, good. You know, helping the hopeless," Morgan replies while setting up another spoonful of oatmeal. "It's really a side gig, like, my main focus is this Fall runway show happening up in Sonoma, it's big wine country, and it attracts a lot potential clients for weddings and big business marketing campaigns…"

Emily finds the conversation flows easily for the rest of the meal. She half listens to Morgan describing his passion-filled projects, but really, she's particularly fascinated by all the differences in her twin. His skin looks different, and Emily realizes it is partially because it's makeup-free. He is wearing a crisp, dark blue button up with a skinny black tie. An assortment of simple silver rings adorns various fingers, and he still has the nervous habit of twirling the ring on his left thumb, a new one, a silver wing, in endless circles with his forefinger. His crew cut is topped with a flamboyant quiff, and even though his brown eyes look tired, he seems happy.

No amount of change could hide that fact from Emily.

Eventually, the tables turn and Emily finds herself telling her brother about her trip across America, the strange adventures she and Jal had and the most unusual reactions to their English accents. She explains the dances of the trains. She talks about Cook, and skirts around the elephant of their parents.

The two old men vacate their seats by the window and step out the glass doors. Their steps are in synch as they head back towards the water's edge.

The woman carries her son out over her shoulder, moving gingerly, so as not to wake him from his post-sugar crash slumber.

The waitress brings the check after the third refill of coffee.

And everything is new.

…


	4. A Change

**Author's Note: **

**Oh man, long time no update. But now I'm forcing myself to take a break from some other writing projects, and I really miss this story.**

**Thank you very much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites. They make me **_**squee**_**. Keep 'em comin'. **

**This one goes to SolelessBoots, who really inspired me to get back to this. Go read their stories if you haven't already! **

**xK!x**

The twins arrived back at the blue Victorian in a steady silence. Emily could feel the day's heat creeping upon them as she rested her head against the car's window. She allowed herself to be enveloped in the small sounds of the car and the faint fragrances of rose water and something headier.

Morgan kept his eyes forward and his lips pursed while his fingers rumbled out a rhythm on the steering wheel as he brought the car to a complete stop. Emily began to wonder when the well of unspoken words between them would run dry.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when you would hold your tongue instead of just saying what you wanted to…Then again, I never thought I'd be disturbed by you _not_ talking."

To Emily's great relief and amusement, Morgan let out a small snort while letting his hands slide from the wheel to his lap.

"Emily…are you? –" Morgan anxiously started. "I thought you'd be angry with me, y' know?"

"I was. I am."

"- not exactly what I was hoping to hear, Ems." Emily could hear the hurt in her brother's voice.

Emily shrugged and sighed before continuing. "I'm not upset by who you're becoming, or who you still are. But, until recently, you shut me out from all of it, Morgan, and that's been hard. That's the part that's been _hell_." Emily held back tears as she recalled all the conversations she's had with Jal and the drunken rants she made Cook endure. Hurting from the distance Morgan imposed between the two of them.

She felt slightly regretful for expelling the easiness that was re-forming between them, but also relieved to voice the loneliness that had been fermenting in her heart.

Morgan placed his right hand into his sister's. "Morgan sham." Emily let out a small smile before shifting the tension. "Yeah, well. You're still in hot water, but I think there's a fashion emergency that needs your immediate attention, yeah?" She unbuckled her seat belt as Morgan chuckled softly. "Yeah, I think poor Mrs. Fowler is still grieving for her shoulder pads I threw out last week."

"You'd feel the same if I confiscated all of your leopard print."

"Bitch! You wouldn't survive to tell the tale."

"Morgan, I really fear the day I'm trapped in a burning building with your shoe collection."

"I'm not that bad…I've pared down."A frowning Morgan added in a doubtful voice.

"Okay," Emily drawled out with mock condescension before leaning in for a hug. Morgan mumbled something into his twin's shoulder, and Emily asked him to repeat it.

"I'm glad you're here, Ems."

"Me too," Emily said with a small but genuine smile before opening the door and placing a foot on the curb. She paused a moment before turning back towards her brother and embracing him for a second time. "What was that for?"He asked, surprise evident in his brown eyes. "That was from Dad," Emily replied gruffly before completely stepping onto the curb and closing the car door, leaving a dumbfounded Morgan nodding sagely before putting the car into drive and peeling off down the road.

As Emily trudged up the porch steps while fumbling for the spare key Morgan had given her, she realized she was exhausted from their early morning excursion and put 'passing out immediately' on the top of her mental 'to-do ' list.

…

Emily slowly opened her eyes as she tried to decipher what exactly woke her up. Brown strands of her hair clung wetly to her cheek and across her forehead. She winced as sunlight glared straight into her line of vision. The concentrated heat of the August sun beat down on her from the window above the headboard. She groaned in discomfort from the smothering feeling of waking up from a nap to the dead heat of the afternoon. A quick glance at her watch on the nightstand confirmed her suspicions. She had slept most of the day away. _Oh, the advantages of being on holiday. No guilt for sleeping in. _

Another glance across the room informed her that Jal had wandered off at some point. Emily smiled to herself as she recalled coming back into the room after her twin had dropped her off to find Jal still asleep and sprawled out on her stomach with her limbs stretching out to all four corners of her bed and a pair of headphones dangling haphazardly from her ears. Music was blasting over her light snores. Emily had gently taken the ear buds out of her friend's ears and wrapped them around the bed post. She'd chuckled and shook her head at Jal's predictable chaotic form. It was as if all her riotous momentum still desired an outlet, even in slumber.

It had only taken two punches to her face and a surprise midnight propulsion from the bed to the floor for Emily to learn that if she valued her life, she should not share a bed with Jal under any circumstance. Apart from 'how to care for vinyl records' and 'how to avoid the entire Frazer family during a feud', 'how to make a makeshift bed on the floor' was the most valuable lesson Emily quickly learned early on in their friendship. Eventually, Jal just lugged a pull-out sofa into her room, which became affectionately known as the 'Emily couch' to everyone in the house.

As she dug out some clean shorts and a towel from her pack, she heard the soft sound of music and voices drifting in the room from down the hall. Draping the towel around her shoulders, she padded out of the room to investigate. After opening the door, two voices singing became more distinct as they drifted from the bathroom to Emily's ears. As she rounded the corner into the bathroom doorway, she smacked her face right against the bare, broad shoulders of a boy with tousled blond hair. Before Emily could apologize, the boy shifted slightly to the side and caught her eyes in the mirror above the sink instead of turning around.

"Oh hey! Hmm… you must be Emily, right?" Emily felt nothing but warmth from the boy's bright smile as she nodded. "Well, it's a pleasure, Emily. Heard loads about you. All good things, rest assured. I'm Maxxie. And this here," Maxxie gestured with dye-covered gloves to a shirtless boy sitting on a stool in front of him, "is Sean, my lovely boyfriend." Sean gave a short, shy nod towards the mirror as Maxxie placed a small kiss to his temple. Sean's hair was sectioned off in bits of foil and a bit of dye streaked around his forehead.

Maxxie maneuvered around the stool to fumble with the small radio that was perched on the back of the toilet, using his forearm to turn the knob, and the bathroom took on an echo-y silence as he successfully turned off the blaring music. He then turned around properly to face Emily. "Did you need the bathroom? We're almost wrapped up. I just need to do a rinse to make sure this one here doesn't go bald." Maxxie shot Sean a toothy grin and a wink and received a good-natured eye roll in return.

"It's alright. No rush. I'll just hop in the shower when you're done. I'm still getting used to this heat." Emily leaned against the door frame, finding some relief from the cool wood against the side of her head. Both boys let out a short chuckle, and then Sean spoke up in a soft voice.

"Feel free to hang out in here. I'm bored out of my mind with the current company." He let out a teasing smirk directed towards the blond who promptly gave him a light shove. "Watch it, _hon_. You're about two seconds away from getting tiger stripes if you keep up with the insults."

Emily couldn't help but smile at their playful bickering, and at Maxxie's insistence, she propped herself on top of the toilet seat to, in his words, 'keep the peace'. They fell into easy conversation, and Emily quickly discovered that the two boys brought out the best in each other. Sean boasted that Maxxie was the best dancer and choreographer on the west coast, while Maxxie claimed that Sean was the poet of this generation. But even beneath the slight hyperbole of their words, Emily could sense their sincerity and found it beautiful.

Apparently, Sean had evening plans that were fast approaching and opted on rinsing his hair out in the "art sink" the house had tucked away in a corner of the living room instead of taking a full shower. He dashed out of the bathroom with a quick peck to Maxxie's cheek and a smile for Emily.

Emily assumed Maxxie would begin to clean up, but instead, he seemed lost in thought while tapping the stool lightly with his thumb. Seemingly satisfied with his internal conflict, he then nodded and turned towards Emily, his bangs falling in his eyes with the effort. Despite the warmth still emanating from his eyes, his countenance took on an intensity that suddenly made Emily a bit uneasy. The moment passed and a small smile spread across his face.

"I have this sense, Emily Fitch, that bravery seems to be a trait that just runs through your family's blood. Am I right?"

"Well …I guess. Um, I've never really thought about it like that." Emily wondered if it was the heat that made it both difficult to answer that random question and not awkward that it was asked by a virtual stranger. She also decided to like Maxxie even a little bit more, because subtly, he'd also just complimented her brother. As she pondered this with her lip between her teeth, Maxxie made a quiet humming sound as he began picking up scissors and foil from the bathroom counter before he catalyzed the conversation once again by facing Emily with a conspiratorial look on his face.

"How do you feel about a change? " He asked with a grin, while holding up another box of dye.

…

**Yes, again, ridiculously short. But I feel this chapter is cursed and I just want to move forward. Fun plans ahead, I promise! And Naomi will appear in the next chapter, scouts' honor! And it will be in the near future (I kinda promise) **

**Best**

**xk!x **

**p.s. SEASON 7 FTW!**


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